


A 20-tonne Dragon, Napping in the Sun

by TonightNoPoetryWillServe



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29387265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TonightNoPoetryWillServe/pseuds/TonightNoPoetryWillServe
Summary: Tharkay could identify the exact moment this particular fantasy had formed in his mind. They’d been on the deck of the Allegiance, after Laurence had finally chosen to live, guided only by his own conscience.AKA the fic everyone has already written, where Laurence and Tharkay finally get their happily ever after on Tharkay's estate.
Relationships: William Laurence/Tenzing Tharkay
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51





	A 20-tonne Dragon, Napping in the Sun

Tharkay could identify the exact moment this particular fantasy had formed in his mind. They’d been on the deck of the _Allegiance,_ after Laurence had finally chosen to live, guided only by his own conscience. 

“But Laurence has no need of a wife, surely?” Temeraire had inquired anxiously. 

“Perhaps he would like one—have you thought of that?” Iskierka shot back.

“I do quite well, thank you,” said Laurence, who looked quite well, too, leaning against Temeraire’s foreleg with a glass in his hand. In fact, he had never looked quite so beautiful to Tharkay as he did then, when he had banished all Tharkay’s misgivings and won his full trust and respect. Tharkay could never fully trust the British government’s man, but Laurence? Laurence he trusted implicitly.

“Laurence, you’ll forgive me saying so, but you do seem the marrying kind,” said Granby, his face a bit warm with drink.

“Are you, Laurence? The marrying kind?” Temeraire was barely restraining himself from furrowing the deck with his talons.

“My dear, you need not worry,” Laurence said, stroking his foreleg gently. Tharkay’s eyes had been glued to the movement, to the pale shine of Laurence’s fingers against black scales. Thankfully, no one was watching him. 

“Have you never thought of it, then?” Temeraire asked.

“Once I might have thought of marriage, and a house in the country,” Laurence replied, still petting the dragon comfortingly. “But I could hardly expect any woman to bind herself to a known traitor, even if she could countenance a 20 tonne dragon, napping in the sun.”

As he said it, he smiled up at Temeraire, all the fondness of their bond shining on his face; the image swam before Tharkay’s eyes, and immediately he began to wonder how it might be accomplished. His father’s estate would certainly have more than enough room. Perhaps it was worth pressing his suit after all. 

And now, years later, the dream is reality: Laurence and Temeraire are ensconced on his estate, Laurence leaning against the great black side, Temeraire snoring softly. Laurence’s hair is loose about his shoulders, his gaze upward at the sky. He looks every inch at peace. It is perfect.

Tharkey enjoys the sight for a few moments before making his presence known. “Good morning, Will.” 

Laurence looks like he’s coming out of a revelry, but gently. “Tenzing, how do you do this morning?”

Tharkay drops down beside him to lean himself against Temeraire. “Very well,” says Tharkay, meaning it. “I would ask after your thoughts, if you care to share them?” It’s a forward question, but the ease between them has only grown since they’ve settled into the estate.

“I was making some suggestions on Temeraire’s address to parliament on draconic rights,” Laurence said, half-lifting the papers in his lap. “And found myself borrowing from my father.”

Tharkay nods, an invitation to continue, if Laurence wishes. 

“He fought slavery his entire life. I find a strange longing for his advice on what should have been common cause between us. It may sound quite foolish—he was already disappointed in me for choosing the navy over the church, and for becoming an aviator, before the not inconsequential matter of my treason.”

Tharkay is relieved to hear Laurence speak of this with such calm in his voice.

“I can no longer credit being in the government’s good graces as any measure of my own esteem,” Laurence continues, downright seditious. “But I wish he had seen me restored nevertheless, and had understood why I did it. Foolish, I know, to dwell on what cannot be. And foolish to care for the opinion of one who could feel anger at my choice to bind myself to Temeraire.” 

_Foolish indeed._ “I admit I have little advice aside from steeling one’s heart against those whose good opinion you cannot earn.” Bold of him to assume Laurence is asking for advice, yet he continues. “But if you have restored your own good opinion of yourself, you can surely trust no one else’s more. Perhaps you must content yourself to know that a man who spent his life fighting slavery would likely have come to his senses eventually about the need to prevent mass murder of an entire sentient species.”

Laurence’s smile is very warm. “I thank you, my friend.” Laurence smiles quite a lot these days, and Tharkay cannot help but feel a certain smugness in having some part of it. Laurence has already made himself indispensable to the management of the estate, and of course to Temeraire’s political machinations as well. Tharkay is grateful that Laurence is kept busy; he can scarcely imagine the man idle. But he does look _rested_ , and Tharkay reflects that he’s perhaps never before seen Laurence well-rested during the many long years of their acquaintance.

There are only two problems, Tharkay muses. The first is the lack of any commitment to permanence. Laurence might still leave. He might find a woman who would be happy to accept a 20-tonne dragon napping in the sun, especially now that Laurence is a war hero. Or Temeraire might tire of political life and wish to return to China, or go off on some other adventure. He is a very young dragon still, and Laurence would follow him anywhere.

The second is that if Laurence doesn’t stop looking so very fine, Tharkay is liable to do something that will absolutely ensure that their arrangement ends quickly. As Tharkay absorbs Laurence’s words, he doesn’t resist the urge to trail his eyes over Laurence’s form. His neckcloth is untied, revealing the pale white of his throat. Tharkay wonders how pale he is beneath his shirt. 

For a moment he is almost unbearably tempted to tuck Laurence’s loose hair behind his ear. It would be so easy to reach out and _touch,_ but even if that small touch would’ve been welcomed in friendship, surely it would be impossible to content himself with that alone. 

“Oh, good morning, Tenzing,” Temeraire says, having woken. “I am glad you are here—I had been wanting to ask you if we might employ Lloyd as a herdsman?”

The conversation continues, the moment lost. But Tharkay is painfully aware of how close he’d been to acting. He has restrained himself across years, and continents, but now that they are acting the picture of domestic bliss, now that all his dreams are so close at hand, he finds it near impossible stay his hand.

***

It grows more impossible still. A few days later, Laurence comes in from his supervision of work on the pavilion Tharkay had readily agreed to—a sign of potential permanence, but still not enough. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, and he looks the picture of British virility. It is unconscionable. 

Catching Laurence’s eye from his seat by the fire, Tharkay raises the bottle in offering, and Laurence takes the seat beside him. Tharkay pours him a glass.

“I fear you may have more than you bargained for, asking us to stay,” Laurence says by way of greeting. 

“I wouldn’t expect Temeraire to linger anywhere long without a pavilion,” Tharkay points out. “And it does get quite cold here.”

“Still, I hope you do not mind the disruption to your property. I could not forgive myself for overstepping.”

“You are not in the least,” Tharkay replies honestly. 

“In that case I must thank you, again, for your hospitality.” Tharkay tries to wave him off, but Laurence continues: “I am not sure I have ever been so content, nor has Temeraire. You have given us both peace and purpose. I pray you will let us know when we have outstayed our welcome.”

The sincerity in Laurence’s words, the warmth in Laurence’s eyes, it is almost too much. “Not possible,” Tharkay replies simply. “I want the both of you to stay, always.” 

Without thinking, Tharkay lays his hand over Laurence’s on the table between them and gives it a small squeeze.

Laurence, gentlemanly as always, only smiles, clearly accepting it as a gesture of friendship.  
“You are quite sure?” 

Now, it is too much entirely. “I am,” he says, raising Laurence’s hand to his mouth and pressing an open-mouthed kiss into that lightly calloused palm, eyes trained on Laurence’s face. 

Laurence stares. Realization dawns. 

“My apologies,” Tharkay interrupts, releasing his hand and rising to his feet. “It is late, and I ought to retire.”

He can feel Laurence’s eyes on him as he leaves the room, cursing his own foolishness. He wonders if it’s too much to hope that Laurence might not have understood after all, or if perhaps Laurence is too much of a gentleman to address it. But he knows it is too much to hope that nothing will change.

In that estimation, he is correct. A few minutes later, there is a knock on the door to his chambers. Laurence is there, still in his shirt sleeves, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Tenzing, might I trouble you a moment?”

Tharkay is frozen in place by his gaze, eyes drawn inexorably to the man’s beautiful face. He says nothing. What is there to say? But he steps aside to allow Laurence inside. Laurence’s eyes take in the room, then rest again on his face.

“I must beg your pardon,” Laurence begins, and of course, of _course_ he is apologizing. “I confess myself caught off guard, but if I have not misunderstood your wish to…” Poor, proper Laurence can’t even say it. “Then my answer is yes.”

The words don’t quite make sense. “Yes… what?” He hates that his voice sounds small.

Laurence swallows hard, and Tharkay’s eyes track the movement of his throat. “If you want this…”

Tharkay cannot believe his ears. His response is very flat. “You have no idea what you’re saying.”

“Do you think so little of me, that I offer without understanding?”

Tharkay can bear it no more. He steps forward and kisses Laurence, short and fierce, the movement pressing Laurence back into the door behind him. Laurence’s lips part in surprise, and Tharkay slips his tongue into the other man’s mouth. He knows he will not have another opportunity, and he cannot deny himself this stolen taste. 

It is a mistake. When he pulls back, Laurence is nearly panting, lips wet, hair in slight disarray. He is Tharkay’s every fantasy come to life.

“Does this not disgust you?” he asks brokenly, searching Laurence’s eyes for the disgust, and the anger, and perhaps pity, that he is sure Laurence must feel. He sees none of those things. 

“Nothing about you could ever disgust me. I would beg your patience with my inexperience, but I do not rescind my offer.”

Laurence is not confessing himself a hidden invert. If he has gone these many years—and in the British navy—without acting on his impulses, then surely, he does not have them to begin with.

“But you do not want me. You do not want this.”

“I do.”

“Why did you never act, if you had such inclinations?”

Laurence’s smile is rueful. “Cannot you imagine what I was like, before Temeraire opened my eyes to the occasional need for disobedience toward the law?”

This is too plausible, but Tharkay still cannot quite believe. “Did you ever think of me this way, until this evening?”

“I did not allow myself to, but in retrospect I see now that I have long held such feelings.”

“So in the span of only a few minutes, you have entirely upended your understanding of yourself?”

“I spent considerably more time considering it than I did my act of treason, before I committed to that course. And I had substantially more to lose, then. Now—now I think I only have to gain.”

Tharkay is rendered speechless. Laurence kisses him. 

Laurence _kisses him._ It is gentler than the kiss Tharkay inflicted upon him, a gentleman’s kiss perhaps, but there is no hesitancy. Tharkay can’t find it in himself to pull away, not when Laurence is winding a hand through the hair at the back of his neck and holding him close. Tharkay pushes forward, pinning Laurence to the door once more as their lips and tongues meet.

He would have thought it a dream, except in the way that every touch exceeds his dreams. He can feel the taut muscles beneath his fingertips. Laurence’s lips are so soft, far softer than they have any right to be. 

He _wants,_ so desperately. His hand slides between them to begin working open the buttons of Laurence’s shirt.

 _“Tenzing,”_ Laurence whispers, in a tone Tharkay has never heard from before. He slides the shirt from Laurence’s shoulders and then starts tugging him in the direction of the bed, hands on his hips. He tumbles backward, pulling Laurence on top of him, pressing up into him and relishing the way Laurence’s hips press up to meet him.

“You’re sure?” Tharkay breaths against his neck.

“Yes,” Laurence says simply.

Tharkay smiles against his jawline and flips them, drawing a small noise of protest from Laurence’s lips. Tharkay quells it with more kisses, and then acts on a sudden impulse to lock his lips and teeth onto Laurence’s neck. _Mine,_ he thinks. _Whatever part of you is not Temeraire’s is mine._ He sucks hard and long enough that it will mark. Laurence lets him, gasping and shuddering. Then he begins to trail kisses down Laurence’s pale chest, lingering over the scars littered across is, relishing every small gasp he draws from the man beneath him.

He can scarcely breathe as he undoes Laurence’s trousers and takes him out, unable to resist grinning against Laurence’s skin when he feels how aroused he is. Laurence makes a small noise of protest when Tharkay releases him to get his trousers the rest of the way off.

He stands for a moment to rake his eyes unabashedly over Laurence’s naked body. He has seen it before, in Australia, in Russia. Laurence has never had a reason to hide, but it is different now, to drink his full. “You are exquisite,” he breaths, relishing the blush the words bring to Laurence’s face.

“Christ, the way you look at me,” Laurence whispers. “Are you going to remain dressed?” 

“For the moment,” Tharkay replies, bending to kiss his way up Laurence’s thigh, nipping slightly at the sensitive skin.

Laurence stares as he comes closer to his cock, which is standing at attention now. “Do you mean to…” He trails off, the word still eluding him.

“With your permission,” Tharkay manages, and waits for Laurence’s answering nod before taking the other man in his mouth. How he as has longed to do this.

Laurence holds himself very still and silent as Tharkay works him with his mouth, even as his body thrums with tension. Tharkay looks up to see that the man is biting down hard on his lower lip. Perhaps moaning doesn’t fit Laurence’s image of being a gentleman, or perhaps it’s merely the result of living aboard ships with no privacy for so long.

“None of that,” he murmurs against the head, pulling back slightly. “I want to hear you.”

Laurence gasps aloud when he sinks down again. He looks almost startled, but then lets his head fall back. _“Tenzing.”_ The name is torn from Laurence’s lips, a primal call. Laurence’s hand is on Tharkay’s cheek, a warning, an offer to disengage. “I’m going to—” 

Tharkay’s hand tightens on his hip enough to bruise—and doesn’t that thought just ratchet up his arousal another level—encouraging him to continue, to finish, and with a wordless cry, he does. Tharkay sucks him through his pleasure, and his aftershocks.

Laurence is staring down at him in wonder. “Come up here,” he murmurs softly. Tharkay obeys immediately, and Laurence is kissing him again and reaching to press a hand between his legs. It’s too gentle, but it’s _Laurence_ , and Tharkay hums in approval. He’s almost painfully aroused, and there is so much he wants to do to this man, this beautiful man, gazing at him with acceptance, and lust, and maybe something more he dares not yet dream of.

He moans, pressing into Laurence’s hand, and making a greedy little whine when Laurence stops palming him to start undoing his trousers. “You don’t have to,” he offers weakly, still afraid of pushing too hard, even though he thinks he might break if Laurence stops. 

“I wish to,” Laurence says simply, drawing him out and running a hand along his length. The shudder wracks him from head to toe. 

“You’ll be the death of me,” Tharkay mutters. “You have no idea how long I have wanted this, have wanted you.”

“How long?” Laurence whispers, stroking him with more confidence now. 

“Since the moment I first saw you in that damnable green silk coat.” The admission should cost him, but it feels too good, especially when Laurence chuckles a bit. Tharkay presses helplessly into the other man. “But when you offered me your hand, in Istanbul—” he chokes out, gasping with pleasure and with the weight of his admission. “And when you kept your word, over and over.”

Laurence is stroking him faster now, eyes locked with his. “ _Fuck,_ Will,” he grinds out, and then he’s spilling into Laurence’s hand, the shocks wracking through his body. Laurence holds him through it, and then pulls him closer, and they pant softly in each other’s arms. 

***

Tharkay wakes first. Laurence’s hair is splayed around him like a halo. He looks so at peace—and it’s only now that Tharkay truly realizes how tensely Laurence holds himself during the day. Although, he is not nearly so tense as he used to be. _Ridiculous, to spend so much consideration on the set of the man’s shoulders._

Eyes lingering on his mark on Laurence’s neck, Tharkay feels a swell of satisfaction. Absurd, perhaps, to want to claim this man, when he is already so thoroughly claimed by another—even if that other is a dragon. 

But he wants it, badly. He wants Laurence—and Temeraire—to be bound to him, and he to them. He has never belonged anywhere, and when he set foot in his childhood home after long years away, it did not feel like home. But it does now, with Laurence and Temeraire here. He wants to trust that sense of belonging, to surrender to it.

Laurence’s eyes blink open, and Tharkay tries not to let his fear show on his face as he asks without preamble, “Do you regret it?” 

“Never,” Laurence replies easily, cupping his cheek and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. Tharkay can’t hold back his answering grin, and feels warmth wash over him. 

“My, but you are a marvel,” Tharkay mumbles against his lips. They kiss for a while, hands gently exploring one another, and Tharkay feels himself begin to burn again. The kisses grow heated, and he feels almost fevered with _want._ He thought finally having Laurence would dampen these feelings, but he burns so much hotter now that he knows what Laurence tastes like. What he sounds like. He burns to know what other things would be like…

“I suppose we should rise and greet the day,” Laurence says.

Tharkay hums in ascent, but does not move. Does not really wish to let Laurence go. There is too much in Laurence’s gaze holding him right where he is. “Stay,” he whispers. “Will, there are so many things I want to do to you...”

The color rises in Laurence’s cheeks. “Oh?”

He trails a hand down Laurence’s muscled back to squeeze that firm, perfect ass.

 _“Oh,”_ Laurence says, going very still, but does not pull away. “You wish to…”

“Will you let me?” Tharkay whispers breathlessly. He knows he may be pushing too hard, too fast, but with Laurence looking at him he’s the goddamn sun, he can’t seem to help himself.

“Yes,” Laurence whispers, the ascent making Tharkay shudder visibly. 

“I’ll be gentle,” Tharkay promises, but he’s already reaching for the oil in the nightstand beside his bed. And there is nothing gentle when he kisses Laurence, pressing himself flush against that pale chest. He forces himself to move slowly as he circles Laurence’s hole with his oiled fingers and gently presses against his entrance. 

_“Oh,”_ Laurence whispers, pressing back into his hand, the movement making Tharkay go painfully hard as he cautiously presses one finger inside. 

“That’s it,” he whispers, forcing himself to go slowly when all he wants is to fuck the other man into the mattress. “Fuck but you feel good. Do you like that?”

“Yes,” Laurence says, eyelashes fluttering. “ _Gods,_ yes. Tenzing, I never knew…” Whatever Laurence never knew is swallowed in a moan when Tharkay slips a second finger inside. He peppers Laurence’s face with kisses before claiming his mouth, insistent searing heat. Tharkay’s never wanted anything so badly as he wants the man writhing against him. “I can take more.”

“Mmm, and you will,” Tharkay murmurs, but he does not add more, yet. He could not bear it if he caused Laurence pain. 

“I meant, now,” Laurence grits out.

“Patience, love.” And didn’t that just slip out, but Laurence doesn’t seem to mind the endearment. 

Finally, Tharkay adds another finger, and finally he deems Laurence ready. The man actually whines in protest when Tharkay removes his fingers to oil himself, unable to resist thrusting against Laurence a few times, especially when Laurence catches their erections in his hand and strokes them together.

He rolls Laurence onto his back and pushes his legs upward, exercising every bit of restraint not to just thrust inside. “I would have you now, if you will permit it,” he all but growls.

“Yes, Tenzing. Please.”

And oh fuck, Laurence saying _please_. He has to hold himself steady a moment to keep from spilling right then. He pushes inside slowly, shuddering at the feel of Laurence clenching around him. “Relax, Will,” he whispers, and Laurence obeys. “Okay?”

“Yes.” As Tharkay starts to move, he wraps one hand around Laurence’s cock and strokes him hard. It feels so good to finally be inside him. 

“You feel so good, Will. So good,” he rumbles, kissing him desperately. 

Laurence groans in response, alternately bucking into his hand and pushing down onto his cock. Tharkay strokes in desperation, wanting to bring Laurence with him. 

“Please, yes. Gods, Tenzing,” Laurence groans out, and then he’s coming in Tharkay’s hand, and Tharkay’s own orgasm hits him like a cannonball, and he nearly blacks out with the force of it. It takes a minute to realize that he’s collapsed on top of the other man, and they’re both breathing harshly.

Laurence looks absolutely undone. “I think you’ve broken me.”

Tharkay tries to keep the smugness out of his reply. “I’ll put you back together again, you have my word.”

They lie in silence for a few minutes, and Tharkay cannot think of any compelling reason to move.

Until he hears the scrape of talons on the windowsill. “Laurence? Laurence, are you all right?” One dinner plate-sized eye appears in the window.

“Quite well, my dear,” Laurence manages.

“You sound out of breath. What are you doing there— _Oh._ ” Their positions have registered. 

“Give me a few minutes, my dear, and I will come to you.”

“Very well, Laurence, only do hurry.” The eye retreats, and Laurence blinks up at the ceiling, a bemused expression on your face. 

“It seems I must away. As pleased as I’d be with your continued company, a few minutes alone with Temeraire are in order.”

“Of course,” Tharkay responds. It is difficult to withdraw, but he does so. “Will you… want to do this again?”

“Very much so,” Laurence replies, a bit of a wicked tilt to his lips. Tharkay breathes a sigh of relief as he watches Laurence stand and begin to prepare for the day.

One problem solved. But the second comes roaring back. Perhaps Laurence merely sees this as affection, as physical release, as temporary? He had thought that if he could just have Laurence in his bed, it would be enough.

But he finds his selfishness knows no bounds. He wants more. He wants everything. And, he thinks with a wry smile, he thinks perhaps he had better first discuss this with Laurence’s _other_ partner. 

***

“Were Laurence a woman,” Tharkay says slowly, “I would make him an offer.”

“An offer? Ah, you mean a marriage proposal. Only you cannot because Government has decided it is illegal, for no very good reason.”

“Yes,” Tharkay replies, pleased that Temeraire does not sound distressed—at least not yet. “I know how much Laurence means to you, and I would not take anything from you, nor require a promise that his future would indefinitely be on this estate. If you should decide to leave, I would go with you both, anywhere.”

Temeraire considers this. “I had not thought of Laurence marrying, but I cannot see it would be so very bad for him to commit to you. We have always done much better with you at our sides. It would give me comfort to know that you were protecting Laurence whenever I am not able—and I do so want him to be happy, after everything.”

Tharkay lets out the breath he hasn’t quite realized he’s holding. “This commitment, Temeraire, would be to you as well. You could consider me as part of your crew, even if there are never to be official positions again.”

With this, Temeraire is fully won. 

“I would only ask that you allow me to speak with him about it, in my own time.”

Temeraire nods. “Of course, it must be between you. But I am sure it will help when you tell him that you have my permission.” 

Tharkay chuckles, laying a hand against the great black muzzle. “I am sure it will.”

***  
It is a week later that Tharkay finally works up the courage. They are lying in the bed they have shared ever since their relationship changed, with Laurence’s head resting against his shoulder. Never has anything felt so right. He means to preface this with an explanation, but the words that come out of his mouth are plain enough: “I love you, Will.”

Laurence pulls back to lock beautiful blue eyes on his. If Tharkay is reading him correctly, the expression on his face is… _joy?_ “I love you too, Tenzing.”

Tharkay cannot withhold his sigh of delight. “Will you stay with me, always? Or rather—allow me to stay with you? I would follow you. Always, anywhere. You and Temeraire both.”

A slight frown pinches Laurence’s face. “I had best speak with him before making promises, but it is very much what I want.”

“On that point, I may reassure you,” Tharkay replies, tone lightly teasing. “I asked his permission before speaking with you.”

Laurence arches one eyebrow. “You asked his permission?”

“Why yes, it seemed only proper, when his claim on you predates mine.”

Laurence’s laugh if almost a snort of amusement. “I see. I suppose I should not be surprised, at this point. So instead, I will simply say this: I want forever with you, Tenzing. I would pledge my love before God if this country allowed it, so I will ask that you simply accept my word.”

“I do. Always. And I pledge myself to you, for all time.”

Their lips meet, and Tenzing’s hear soars. After so long, he feels finally happy. Finally at peace. He knows exactly where he belongs: here at Laurence's side, with their 20-tonne dragon napping in the sun.


End file.
